Hey 👋 – just wanted to drop you the tail-end of my night. Became BFFs with a Snowdog named Frosty and led a pup parade across Pawsburgh! Turns out I’m part ice-whisperer, part winter wagoneer – who knew? Warmed hearts in the cold – Jac’s the name, serendipity’s the game. Until next frost! ❄️ – Jac

Listen to the story here

“Ah, Pawsburgh,” I sighed, shaking the frost from my jowls as I trundled along the diamond-dusted path that led to Shar-Pei Shores. Tonight, the air held a crispness that sang of winter’s touch, whispering of a magic that seemed to dance on the edge of my snout. It was an evening of peculiar expectation – something was happening down by the Pinscher Plaza, and it wasn’t just the usual tail-wagging soirée.

As I neared the sparkling square, the prismatic lights of The Doggie Daycare shimmered like mirages in the nippy air. “Evening, Jac!” a voice called out, thick with excitement. It was Max, tail a-blur, ears perked to the moon.

“What’s the gossip, Max?” I couldn’t help but grin, my wiggly bum betraying my composed inquiries.

“A snowdog, Jac! A real, live snowdog.” Max barked with such fervor I thought he might take flight.

I quirked an eyebrow – a skill I’ve perfected over many moons. “You’ve had one rawhide bone too many.”

But, indeed, as we edged closer to the square, I saw it: a spectacular snowdog, its eyes glinting sapphires in the glow of the Wagging Whisk’s windows. The children of Pawsburg, little pups of all breeds, scampered and yapped about the creature with delight.

Forgive me for a brief pause here, dear reader, I had a moment of existential pondering. As I approached the snowdog, he turned his frosty snout towards me and wagged a meticulously sculpted tail. “I’m Frosty,” he said in a voice cool as an alpine breeze. “Frosty the Snowdog.”

“Jac.” I nodded, my voice betraying my intrigue. “But of course you knew that.”

“Yes,” Frosty laughed, “I’ve heard tales of your antics, wise Jac. Pray tell, would you join us on a winter adventure?”

“The audacity,” I mused, but my heart was already kart-racing with the pups around Pawsburg’s icy wonderland. With Frosty leading our brigade, we glided over the frozen surfaces of Shar-Pei Shores, carving tracks in the fresh-fallen snow that swirled like confectioner’s sugar.

“What brings you to life on this nippy eve?” I inquired, less out of dogged curiosity and more out of polite conversation as we took a snuffled breather by Spitz Spire.

Frosty’s crystalline chuckle filled the air. “Friendship. Joy. The stuff of life—warm even in the chillest hour.”

“Ah, philosophy,” I noted. “Pairs well with beef stew, too, you know. The savory type.”

He grinned, a crack in his icy exterior. “I’ll take your word for it.”

As the evening waned, our adventures wound to a snug embrace. Frosty imparted lessons of camaraderie to the pups, showing them that every flake in the drift is a friend waiting to be made, every cold nose a chance to warm a heart.

Finally, we found ourselves at Fido’s Feast, a respite for cold paws and grumbling bellies. Elusive tennis ball forgotten, I savored the night’s escapade over a bowl of that silent-savored stew. We raised a toast – Frosty with his ice-cold water, I with my stew gravy – to Pawsburgh, the town that saw more than the eyes could ever perceive.

And as the night drew a curtain over our merry-making, Frosty stood by Bark-n-Bite Bistro, his snow beginning to glisten under the sleepy moon’s gaze. “Until next frost,” he said, his figure softly blurring at the edges.

“Until next frost,” I agreed, feeling the warmth of the day seep into my brindled coat. I trotted home, full of spirit, under the stars that held the secrets of Pawsburgh and every tail-wagging soul within its embrace.

And so, I leave you, dear two-legged confidant, with echoes of magic in the frosty air and a tale of a night when snow and fur danced in unity under Pawsburgh’s knowing skies.

The End.